


Riders' Affairs

by Always_Dreaming



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Opposites Attract, Secret Relationship, Showing Off, Silly, gratitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 12:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/pseuds/Always_Dreaming
Summary: Various riders in romantic or other significant situations with each other.Most recent:7. Dani Pedrosa/Miguel Oliveira8. Andrea Dovizioso & Fabio Quartararo9. Maverick Vinales & Luca Marini10. Jorge Lorenzo/Tony Arbolino11. Jorge Lorenzo/Dani Pedrosa





	1. Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone can think of unlikely couples they'd like a story about, I'd like to know. If I can think of a scenario, I'll try because I want to write more short stories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca is in hospital and has two awkward visitors.

“What are you doing here?” asked Vale as he entered the hospital room to visit his brother. Luca had undergone an operation on his shoulder and was staying in a few days to recover.

Alex Marquez blushed. “Er—well Luca is my friend, so I wanted to stop him getting bored.” He looked defiantly at the tall Italian, although because he was tall too, he was staring him straight in the eyes.

“I didn’t know about this.” Vale’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and Alex thought, a bit of jealousy.

“I’m allowed to have friends,” said Luca. “Even if you don’t like their brothers.”

The siblings glared at each other, then the older one relented. “Of course. Don’t leave on my account, Alex.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He smiled sweetly and Vale stared at him, then coughed and turned to his brother.

“So how do you feel?”

Luca launched into a description of the operation and how long it would take before he could ride a bike again. He was disappointed that he’d have to wait so long and although it was unlike him to complain, he felt safe in the company of two other riders who understood how it felt to be injured and at a loose end.

Alex sat listening, watching the two brothers and wondering how they could be so different. Luca looked like a model, an angel, not even real—he had a clear and direct gaze which could get right to the truth. Vale was much more rough and ready, with wilder hair and a more bubbly energy, never focusing on one thing for too long.

The unlikely trio had a nice conversation for about half an hour, despite the awkward situation. They talked about what their plans were for the winter season, their training, their friends, carefully avoiding saying anything about arguments, rivalries or conspiracies.

But at last Vale stood up, unable to stand being confined in such a clean, sterile, quiet place for any longer.

“I’ll come back and see you tomorrow,” he said, giving his brother a gentle hug so as not to hurt him.

“Think I’ll go too,” said Alex. He went to give Luca a hug too but Vale glared at him. “What’s the matter with you?” Alex asked the Italian. “He’s my friend.”

Vale seemed to be having some trouble controlling himself- he was chewing his lip and frowning, and he didn’t know where to put his hands, so he folded his arms. His brother stared at him in confusion.

“See you tomorrow,” he said to Luca, and shuffled out of the door.

“I’ll see you soon, too.” Alex smiled at his friend, who was still looking puzzled.

The young Catalan hurried down the hospital corridor, eager to get home. He soon caught up with Vale and slowed down.

The Italian grabbed his arm. “Do you think he realised?”

Alex grinned. “What, that I’m sleeping with the enemy? Someone old enough to be my granddad?”

“Shhh! Be quiet, or the news will go round the hospital and get back to him.”

Alex just kept smiling.

Then Vale’s brain caught up with the conversation. “Hey! What do you mean, old enough to be your granddad? I’m not that old.”

“You only just realised what I said? Oh well, at your age we shouldn’t expect fast thinking.”

Vale glared at him. “Someone is in for a spanking when we get home.”

“Hopefully! I’ll follow you in my car shall I? Age before beauty.”

The Italian rolled his eyes. “You are skating on very thin ice, young man.”

They hurried towards their cars, giggling and pushing each other on the way.


	2. At the Folies Bergère

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Frenchmen at the Folies Bergère.

“Look at me, I can do a handstand,” said Johann as he showed off in front of all the dancing girls at the Folies Bergère. He balanced perfectly, with no wobbling or shaking.

“Very good!” said Fabio, clapping enthusiastically as the audience of dancers clapped faintly.

“What can you do?” asked Johann.

“Oh I can do this!” The younger Frenchman did a cartwheel, then looked to see if the female onlookers were impressed. They made various ooh and ahh noises.

“I can do this though,” said Johann. He did another handstand, but this time walked on his hands as well.

In return, Fabio did a one handed cartwheel, accompanied by a few ooh noises from the girls.

To continue the competition, the dark haired rider walked on his hands and kicked his legs as he walked, waving his feet around in all directions.

“I can beat that!” shouted Fabio, then he did a no handed cartwheel, keeping his arms well out of the way as he flipped over in the air.

Johann knew his final trick was the only thing that would ensure he won this battle. He climbed up onto the stage, checked his surroundings were safe, then did a backflip off it, landing neatly on bent legs, then straightened up.

There was a burst of clapping, but when he looked round, it was only the other rider clapping. The chorus girls weren’t there anymore.

“Where did they go?” he asked, gesturing to the space where they’d been standing.

Fabio shrugged. “Who cares? Can you show me how to do that backflip? I always wondered how you did it.” He gazed admiringly at the senior rider.

“Of course!” said Johann, puffing out his chest. He’d been so happy when another Frenchman joined MotoGP, he was glad the feeling seemed to be mutual.

So they spent the rest of the evening teaching each other gymnastics, uninterested in the dancing girls.


	3. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johann Zarco is an accountant, but his well ordered life is disrupted by an accident.

Johann Zarco closed down his computer and set off for home. He enjoyed his job as an accountant as he could have everything exactly as he liked it with nothing out of place. As he reversed his car out of his named parking space, he congratulated himself on leaving the office on the dot of five o’clock for the twenty seventh evening in a row. He was trying to break his own record of leaving work thirty days at the correct time. A sudden bang made him jump and jam the brakes on. He peered out of the window to see a broken bicycle lying behind his car. Leaping out of the door in horror, he was shocked to see the bicycle and rider in a heap on the ground.

“Oh no!” he shouted, and ran to help the young man who was lying there groaning, clutching his arm. “Are you okay, is your arm broken?”

Luckily the cyclist was wearing a helmet, his head was protected and he seemed conscious and aware. Johann noticed he had a handsome, symmetrical face with dark eyes. He looked frightened though and the accountant felt a wave of protectiveness rise up.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take you to hospital.”

“But I can’t,” said the young man, and pointed to a bag on the floor, which was open and spilling out some parcels. “I was delivering them, I was taking a short cut through your car park because they’re urgent.”

“It won’t take a minute to get you to hospital.” He helped the lad to his feet and into his car, then put the twisted bike into the boot of his car.

They were indeed drawing up at A & E within a few minutes and Johann helped the courier to the desk, explaining the situation. He actually felt happy at this change in his routine, and powerful due to helping the young man.

He explained to the receptionist, saying, “this is Mr—?”

“Fabio Quartararo,” said the cyclist.

“I knocked him off his bike so I wanted you to check him over, please.”

The receptionist took notes and pointed to where they were to sit down.

“I’ll get in trouble,” mumbled Fabio sadly. “I had to deliver those parcels as soon as possible.”

Johann had an idea. “I’ll deliver them for you! Then I’ll come back to take you home.” He felt like superman, saving someone instead of calculating figures all the time.

“But—but—I can’t ask you to—”

“I knocked you over so it’s the least I can do.” He was surprised at himself being so dynamic.

He looked in the bag to find six parcels and drove off to the nearest address, wondering if he was actually going insane. It was five thirty, by now he was supposed to be at home cooking dinner. He always ate chicken chasseur on Wednesdays. Why had he moved so out of his usual routine? Guilt, he decided. Knocking a handsome young man off his bike was a situation where he had to break his routine.

It was easier to deliver the parcels than he’d feared. He only got told off twice and as he dropped off the last one, he sighed with relief and turned back towards the hospital. He walked to A & E, but there was no sign of Fabio. Of course. He’d probably called a friend and gone home. Johann slumped in disappointment.

“Hey!” called a voice, and the blond strolled over to him. He had a sling on his arm and a plaster on his forehead. “Did you get them delivered? Thanks so much, I can’t believe how kind you are!” He smiled, his face lighting up, and Johann couldn’t help smiling back.

“Oh it’s nothing! I ran you over, so it’s the least I could do.” They stood smiling shyly at each other.

“So we’re even now are we?” asked Fabio. “You knocked me over, then you made up for it by delivering my parcels?”

“Yes.” For some reason, the accountant felt this was like an ending, and a wave of disappointment washed over him.

The younger man suddenly punched him on the arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Now I have to make up for punching you.” Fabio smiled very sweetly. “What if I take you out for dinner?” He looked so cute that Johann’s heart fluttered.

“Er—well—yes—er—yes—” he stammered.

But Fabio was already heading for his car. “Come on,” he directed. “We’ll go to the beach.”

Johann followed meekly but his heart was skipping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got quite into this couple now! Ze Frenchmen.


	4. New Teammates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis is sad, exhausted and frightened, Jaume comforts him.

The first test that the Moto 3 riders had in 2020 was at Losail in February, and Jaume Masia was very excited. He bounced into the garage, eager to get started in the Leopard team. Catching sight of himself in a mirror, he laughed at his own happy face. His last team hadn’t been difficult but it was nice to have a change with a new bike, new team members and new colours.

He noticed his new teammate sitting on the floor a few yards away with his head in his hands and paused, feeling worried. It was Dennis Foggia, rider number 7, who had left the VR46 Sky Racing team that year. But he didn’t look happy at all, so Jaume tiptoed over to him and crouched down.

“Alright, Dennis?” he asked perkily, but gasped when the young Italian looked up with reddened eyes. “Wh—what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sad, I’m happy,” whispered the Italian.

Jaume sat down next to him. “Why are you crying then?”

“I—I didn’t like it in VR46. I had to do what they said all the time or they bullied me.”

“Bullied you?” Jaume felt anger rising up inside. “What did you have to do?”

“I had to like all the same things as them, dislike the same things, look the same, act the same. I felt like a robot. Or a clone.”

“What happened if you were different?”

“They punished me. They chained me to a post out on the circuit overnight once, I was scared. I saw a fox walking past me, what if it had been a wolf?”

“That sounds horrible!”

“And we had to work hard every day, twelve hours a day, which I don’t mind, but we had to achieve a certain lap time every day, seven days a week and it went down every day. Sometimes I was too tired to do it, so were some of the others, but we were punished if we didn’t. And we weren’t allowed to be close friends, we were allocated a training partner and it always seemed to be the person I got on worst with. We had to do everything with them, we weren’t allowed to find friends naturally, and it wasn’t fun.”

Jaume was horrified—his previous team hadn’t been like that at all—it had been hard work but fun and supportive, he’d enjoyed it. He was only leaving because he wanted a better bike. But poor Dennis had been traumatised. 

“Well that won’t happen in THIS team,” Jaume said abruptly. He helped his new teammate up off the floor and gave him a hug. “We’ll work together and beat VR46.” He was only a few months older than Dennis, but decided on the spur of the moment that he’d be the leader of the team and make the ex-academy rider happy.


	5. Idol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca helps Enea after his accident.

Poor Enea stumbled back to his motorhome after his appointment in the medical centre. It was hard to walk, no wonder he’d been declared unfit for the UK race. It was so frustrating! And even worse than that, his idol Luca Marini was the one who had knocked him out of the Austrian race! Luca was everything Enea wanted to be—tall, blond, handsome. The young Italian sighed and hobbled onwards.

Running footsteps caught him up and he turned awkwardly to see Luca arriving next to him.

“I’m so sorry Enea,” he stammered. “I just heard you'd been declared unfit for this race too! I’m so clumsy!”

The shorter rider gazed at the taller one. Luca was almost glowing with healthy, handsome blondness, like Thor descending from Asgard.

“It’s okay,” mumbled Enea sadly, stumbling onwards. “You better get back to your team.”

“No! Where is your motorhome, I’ll help you.” Luca put his arm round his countryman’s waist, but it made Enea’s progress worse as there was such a big height difference between the two riders.

They hobbled along until they got to the right trailer—Enea looked at the steep steps up to the door and sighed. But before he knew it, he’d been swept up in Luca’s arms and carried up the stairs at top speed. Of course Luca could stride up steps with no problem, he was surely superhuman.

They reached the front door and Luca gently tipped Enea onto his feet, making sure he didn’t fall, and the younger rider opened the door. 

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered. “Good luck in the race, I’ll be cheering for you.”

Luca beamed at him, Enea felt like the sun was shining directly in his face and he smiled happily back.


	6. Caring Jorge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea of Jorge looking after Johann Zarco so much I wrote more about them. I’m trying to imitate Zarco’s French accent, that’s why there are so many wrong spellings

After the British race, Jorge Lorenzo strode through the paddock towards his motorhome, feeling triumphant. Yes, he’d only scored 2 points this race, but he felt he was on his way back. As his body healed more and more, he could take on the other riders and climb to the top again.

As he approached his front door, he noticed a slumped figure sitting on the ground nearby, in orange and navy clothes. A KTM team member. Was he drunk? He tiptoed up, not wanting to scare him.

The person looked up and it was a tearstained Johann Zarco.

“What is wrong?” asked Jorge, crouching down next to him. “Are you upset because you took out Oliveira? These things happen. Remember I took out all those guys at Barcelona?”

“It’s not just zat.” The Frenchman sighed. “It’s everything. I can’t do anything right. I decided to leave because I can’t make ze bike work. I don’t know what’s going to ‘appen to me next year.” He gave another big sigh.

“Come along,” said Jorge, helping him up. “Come and have a drink, it’s much cooler in my motorhome. It’s far too hot out here, no? This is not normal for England.”

They went into Jorge’s Repsol trailer and he poured a glass of water and a glass of beer for each of them.

“I sought you’d understand because you are—or you were—struggling too,” said Johann. “You are looking around at Ducati and trying to make ze ‘Onda work properly.”

Jorge bristled, then relented. “You’re taking the opposite route to me. We will see which one is best.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“It helps if you name your feelings,” said the Majorcan, remembering his past therapy sessions.

“Okay—er—disappointed, frustrated, angry…”

“Then you decide what to do about them.”

“Er…disappointed. I must find something I can do well and finish, to cheer myself up. Frustrated? Ze same I guess? Angry. Find some way to release ze anger safely.”

Jorge thought what a charming French accent he had. “Now decide what actions you will take. Not right now. Sometime soon, yes?”

Johann stared admiringly at the five times champion. “Zat will help me, sanks. You know about people’s feelings. What about you? Did you enjoy your race?”

“Yes. It was great, I scored two points, I’m back in the hunt to win the championship.” Then Jorge realised how silly that sounded. “As long as everyone else gets minus points for the rest of the year…”

He looked at Johann’s confused face until the Frenchman realised it was sarcasm, and they both started giggling.


	7. Far Too Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani visits Miguel at the British race...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm bombarding you at the moment, I got LOTS of inspiration from the British race...

“That man!” shouted Miguel, stamping through the paddock, forcing Dani to almost run to keep up with him.

“What man?”

“The Frenchman! He decides to leave KTM, then takes me out of the race! Is he trying to stop me getting his bike next year?”

“No, no!” Dani puffed. “You were just unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Look at Lorenzo and Dovi taking each other out last year, that was bad luck too!”

“It was not the same. I think it was deliberate this time.”

“Slow down, will you?”

Miguel slackened his pace a little to allow Dani to keep up, but continued complaining about Zarco. They reached his motorhome, and he stopped so suddenly that the test rider bumped into him, so he turned.

“So are you glad you came to this race?” asked the Portuguese, with a half-smile. “Now I’m in such a bad mood?”

“Well, you know, I didn’t have anything better to do, I thought why not come along?” Dani smiled back.

Miguel let them into his motorhome and flung himself down on the sofa. Dani stood at the door watching him. “You look far too hot,” he said.

“Oh do I?” The younger rider winked at him and spread his arms and legs out, his leather suit creaking. “Maybe you should help me out of my hot clothes?” He winked even more cheekily.

“Certainly,” said Dani, and pounced across the room on top of him. They had a wrestling match with the KTM suit and undergarments, trying to prise Miguel out of them. When they finally succeeded, he was lying there only wearing his underpants and Dani was sitting next to him, admiring his tanned muscly chest, arms, legs…everything…

Miguel waggled his eyebrows. “Now who’s looking hot?” He slid his gaze up and down the Spaniard’s body—he still looked gorgeous even though he was wearing anonymous, long, grey shorts and a cream, short sleeved shirt, as he wasn’t here in an official capacity. But Miguel saw and knew that under his clothes, he had such a compact, cute figure, perfectly proportioned, and couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.

“Should I do the same, take all my clothes off? I’m not sure…” Dani pranced around the room, unbuttoning his shirt and nearly taking it off, then putting it on again. He eventually undid it all, shrugged it off and let it slip down his shoulders til it fell on the floor. Then he started undoing his shorts and looked as if he’d take them off, then turned his attention to his sandals and flicked them off, one hitting the wall, the other sliding into the kitchen. Then he turned back to his shorts, sliding them slowly down, then up, then down again, grinning wickedly and suppressing giggles.

“Stop teasing me!” groaned the Portuguese rider, his underpants tenting as he lay on the sofa, eyes fixed on the undressing figure.

At last he was satisfied, because Dani jumped on top of him, they were both only wearing boxers now. “I’m glad I came to this race now,” he breathed, wriggling around, his hard cock pressing against Miguel’s. “I think—”

“I hope you’ll be more glad in a little while,” interrupted the younger rider, grinning, then they kissed passionately, Dani pressing him down into the sofa cushions.


	8. Snap!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fabio cheers up Dovi while they are in Coventry hospital.

Dovi was propped up in bed in Coventry hospital, fuming to himself. Yet another stroke of bad luck—how many times had other riders taken him out of the race? He didn’t blame Quartararo, he’d been told that the Frenchman was just avoiding Rins going sideways, but why was luck always against him? He flipped through the channels on the TV, although he’d been told not to watch it for too long due to his concussion. There was nothing of interest, just stupid shows.

A knock on the door made him look round, and a blond head poked round it.

“Can I come in?” Fabio’s eyes were wide, uncertain what his reception would be.

“Okay,” said Dovi, shrugging.

“I’m so sorry you were so hurt,” said the Frenchman at once, sitting in the chair next to the bed. “I was trying to avoid Rins, and you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time—”

“I know, okay. I know what happened, it’s alright, I don’t blame you. It’s just…” He sighed. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself—yet again I get caught up in someone else’s accident.”

Fabio smiled sadly. “It is the luck of racing isn’t it. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. We both got the bad luck today.”

Dovi tried to smile back but it was difficult because he was so disappointed.

“How long are you in here for?”

“Oh just a few hours, I hope. You?”

“The same. But I thought…shall we play a game?” The younger rider produced a pack of Snap cards from his pocket and held them out.

The Italian laughed in delight because they were bike themed. He took them from Fabio’s hand, and examined each classic bike card in turn.

Fabio pulled the bed tray round and Dovi put the pack on it. He was well practised at playing Snap with Sara of course, and divided the cards between them.

They each put a card down in turn, getting faster and faster, until Fabio exclaimed, ‘Snap!’ when he saw two Triumph Bonnevilles, and gathered the pile towards him. 

Dovi tutted theatrically, but quickly got lucky when he noticed matching Harley Davidsons and shouted, ‘Snap!’ a bit louder.

“Snap!” shouted Fabio, seeing two Kawasakis.

“Snap!” yelled Dovi, doubly excited because he’d spotted two red Ducati Monsters.

“SNAP!” bellowed Fabio, matching two Suzuki Katanas.

The pile of cards moved from one rider to the other and they got more and more competitive, excited, and noisy as the game continued, as neither could beat the other.

Then the door opened and someone strode in.

“Gentlemen,” said a stern voice. Brown eyes and blue eyes met the gaze of an irate matron. “I’m happy to see you’re enjoying yourself but please keep the noise down. Some patients are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry,” they chorused, trying not to giggle.

“Good.” She looked at Fabio. “And could you please go back to your room for tests at seven o’clock.” It wasn’t a question but an order.

“Yes, Matron,” said the blond rider meekly.

After she left, they burst into suppressed giggles, not daring to make too much noise. Then they started playing again and instead of shouting, hissed ‘Snap!’ theatrically, until they were laughing so much, they were clutching their stomachs in pain as they tried to be as quiet as possible.

After a while, Dovi became tired and sat back, saying, “I’d better have a rest now, my eyes are losing focus.” He hated not winning but he did need to look after himself.

“Of course,” said Fabio, sitting back too.

“Thanks for cheering me up though.” The older rider smiled broadly at the younger, and patted his forearm.

“You’re welcome.” Fabio patted Dovi’s hand in return. “We both had bad luck this race, but the next one will be better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows what the game Snap! is don't they? I recently found out that some countries don't play Snap! 😮


	9. Knee Sliders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luca says thank you to Maverick.

“Maverick!” shouted a voice as the number 12 rider walked towards his motorhome after all the qualifying and press conferences had finished. He turned to see a familiar blond figure bounding towards him with a package in his hand.

“Hello?” said the Yamaha rider, remembering that before qualifying he’d stopped Luca from riding out with no knee sliders. So much had happened since then, the episode had faded in his mind.

“Thanks for helping me earlier,” said the Moto2 rider, smiling shyly. “I’d have broken my knees or worse if you hadn’t.”

“You’re welcome,” said Maverick. “It’s easy to forget something. But your crew should have noticed, really.”

“Oh well. I guess they will next time. I mean—there won’t be a next time.”

The dark haired rider noticed the other was fiddling with the parcel in his hands, so he stared at it.

“Oh! This is a thank you gift. It’s for your dog, she looks so sweet on Instagram.” Luca held the present out, it was only wrapped in a paper bag.

Maverick grinned broadly and took it. Peering into the bag, he saw some dog toys—one was a yellow, bone shaped chew, one a multi coloured rope tug-of-war toy and the other an orange, ridged chewy doughnut.

“They’re great!” He picked up the toys and pressed them—the doughnut squeaked so loudly it made him and Luca jump.

The two riders giggled and Maverick re-wrapped the toys in the bag and put them in his jacket pocket.

“Thanks! She’ll love those!” He beamed up at the tall Italian, who smiled back.

“No,” he said. “Thank YOU.”


	10. Just a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has something to tell Jorge.
> 
> Based on this photo: https://twitter.com/Becca_9914/status/1187619593789018112/

Jorge was surprised one day when he heard someone pounding on the front door of his house in Lugano. Who could it be? Most people had to get past the mechanical front gates of his estate, unless they had the pass code.

So, it must be someone he knew, but they sounded angry. He cautiously went to the door and peered through the spyhole. It was Tony! What on earth was he so annoyed about? He opened the door curiously and couldn’t help himself admiring his long time friend, who was now 25, and no longer the lanky youth of six years ago. He was now a handsome young man with well-defined muscles, he’d filled out perfectly and Jorge privately thought he just got better looking every year.

Anyway. The Majorcan turned his thoughts away from this—he’d had so many years of practice thinking of Tony as _just a friend, no more_ that it was his default setting. Then he took a closer look at the Italian and saw his eyes were red rimmed…he’d seen Tony crying enough times to know the signs.

“Come in,” he said quickly, drawing the visitor inside. “What’s upset you?” They were too close friends to worry about any macho pretence that they had no emotions.

Tony strode into the lounge and Jorge scurried after him, very concerned now as he was pacing this way and that, looking flustered and uneasy, and not sure what to do with his hands.

Jorge watched, trying to keep calm and wait for him to say what was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t a problem with his team, or his bike, or another injury…

“I can’t do this anymore,” announced the Italian suddenly. “I can’t be friends with you.”

Jorge’s heart sank and he felt like the air was draining out of him, like a deflating airbag. _Not again. Why do all my friendships end like this? I must have done something wrong. Again. Why can’t I ever hold onto a friend?_ He sighed.

“Oh. Well I’d like to—to keep in touch with you. Maybe we can just meet less often? Every few months instead of—of—er—every week? Just so I—I can—maybe see how your career’s going?”

_Or has Tony guessed that my feelings go deeper, however hard I’ve struggled to hide them? He’s a handsome young guy and I’m nearly 40—of course he wants to cut ties with me and have young friends._

He suddenly realised Tony was staring at him as if he’d grown three heads. “What?”

“No, I don’t mean that! I mean I want to see more of you, not less!” The Italian was hopping from one foot to the other. “I want to be more than friends!”

Jorge stared at him, trying to process what he’d just heard. His heart began beating faster and his eyes widened as the younger rider continued:

“Nelli and Fenny and even—even John and Jaume and all the others—have been telling me for months to tell you how I feel!”

The Majorcan knew who Nelli, Fenny, John and Jaume were, they’d all moved together through Moto 3, Moto 2 and were now in MotoGP with Tony, but who were the _others?_ Did they suspect how he felt about Tony? His thoughts were flying here and there trying to make sense of this.

“Wh—what others?” he stammered. “Other people shouldn’t be telling you what to do.”

“Oh Jorge! That’s not the point!” Tony was half-smiling, half frowning in that exasperated, fond way he did when Jorge focused on something irrelevant. “Weren’t you listening? I want to be your boyfriend and I want to know how you feel.”

The retired rider felt a smile spreading across his face and a blush spreading all over him. “I’ve been wanting that too... but I’ve been thinking you don’t want an old has-been like me. You need friends and lovers your own age…so I didn’t tell you how I felt.” 

This sounded so easy in words but it hadn’t been. Almost as soon as Jorge had met Tony, he’d fallen for the youth with the wide, easy grin, the gangly grace of a Labrador puppy, the passion for racing which just needed to be harnessed and directed in the correct way. Jorge had been the one to find the right way to get Tony focused and working hard on his racing, instead of being distracted by unimportant concerns. And what rewards they’d reaped together. Tony had become Moto 3 champion aged 20, then Moto 2 champion aged 23, now he was in MotoGP fighting with all the riders who had moved up with him through the stages. All Jorge had to do was pretend he just wanted to be friends with him—not stare too long at him when he got out of the pool dripping wet. Not visit him too often. Not get too protective of him when he faced criticism. As long as he’d been allowed to be part of Tony’s life, that had been enough. But this new development was a shock, however pleasant.

He suddenly realised he’d been staring admiringly with his mouth open, at his companion while he’d been saying something. “What?”

“I said, you’re not an old has-been!” Tony was almost shouting but grinning at the same time. “I always thought I was too young for you, too immature and silly while you were more sophisticated.”

Jorge couldn’t imagine why Tony had thought he was sophisticated, but before he could speak, the young Italian was hugging him.

He couldn’t believe that at last he had his arms full of the man he’d wanted for so many years. “Are you sure? I’m far too old, you should be with someone younger who can go through the same life stages as you.”

“Stop saying that…I don’t want _younger lovers_ , I’ve always wanted _you_ ,” Tony whispered in his ear.

Jorge felt a sudden wave of mixed emotions hit him—shock, happiness, relief, love—it was like he was being filled with warmth and it was thawing his well frozen heart. After so long bottling up all his feelings, he knew for sure at last they were reciprocated. He sagged into Tony’s arms, after all these years.


	11. A Different Press Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what happened today, this is what I thought should have happened.

Jorge Lorenzo called a press conference for the Thursday before the Valencia race, which was of course the final one of the season.

When all riders, team members, friends and family were assembled, he began to speak. “You may wonder why I’ve called this press conference today, no?” he said. “I have some very good reasons. As you may have guessed, I'm planning to retire and Valencia will be my last race.”

Loud murmurs and gasps of shock filled the room.

“However that is not the only reason,” he continued. “In 2012 somebody asked me a question about whether Dani Pedrosa and I were friends. And I said that we became more and more friends over the years, and perhaps in the future we will get married.”

He paused for dramatic effect and the audience shuffled in anticipation. 

Then Carmelo said, “we have another guest, please welcome him.” He looked across to where the slight figure of Dani crept through the door, looking nervous.

Everyone turned to stare at him as he went to sit next to Jorge, who grabbed his hand, interlaced their fingers and lifted their clasped hands onto the table so everyone could see.

There was a stunned silence until Jorge said: “The day has come. We did indeed become more friendly over the years and of course Dani retired last year. So we decided that after I’ve had such a bad year, I would retire this year also, and we are now going to get married. And hopefully live happily ever after.” He giggled nervously.

The audience gasped.

“Well this is it,” he continued. “This is my news, what do you think?”

There was another pause. Then both riders and Carmelo were almost blinded by the flashes of what felt like a million cameras and phones taking pictures all at once.

“Has anyone got any questions for Jorge or Dani?” asked the journalist in charge of the press conference.

“Me!” shouted everyone and a forest of hands shot up.


End file.
